SLAVE TO TWO MASTERS - 3

Part 3 of this story originally appeared in the Bound & Gagged online edition, No. 15 August 2000).

3

MIKE

It had started as fun. Even though, following Bob and Jim’s instructions, I had eagerly gotten myself into the one-piece rubber sleepsack, somehow doing it on my own and knowing I could escape mitigated the discomfort that increased over the hours. I had even fallen asleep in it. But now everything had changed dramatically—people had entered my apartment and my room as I lay hooded and blind, and now I was strapped, unhooded, in the sack on the floor while someone named Mike slept in my bed. My mouth was stuffed with his sweatsock and taped closed, and the hours dragged slowly as I listened to his easy, light snoring. The unyielding, chafing rubber, virtually glued to my body, became more unpleasant with each passing minute. I agonized over how much longer he would sleep and whether he would release me when he woke. I rocked carefully, quietly, from side to side on the floor, in an attempt to relieve my physical distress. I closed my eyes in despair, for just a few seconds, and opened them when something grazed my nose. Mike’s feet were in my face. He was sitting on the edge of my bed, playing with his cock.

“Waking up to the sight of you like that is a not a bad way to start the day. Had enough? I guess it’s time to get you out.”

He unbuckled the leather belts that encircled me and stood up to watch as I self-consciously squirmed and sloshed in the sack, working hard to peel off the rubber and extract myself through the neck opening. Finally free, kneeling on the floor, my mouth still taped shut over Mike’s sweatsock, I rubbed my damp arms, and shivered. I was coated with piss and sweat and felt cold and clammy. At a gesture from Mike, I put my wrists together behind my back for him to cuff them.

“Stay on your knees. Follow me”

I crawled behind him into the bathroom and at his command climbed into the tub, got back down on my knees and finally managed to urinate through the chastity pod, my urine dribbling down the inside of my legs. Mike made me bend over till my forehead touched the wet porcelain bottom of the tub. He removed the butt plug and filled me with a warm water enema till I was cramping in pain and thought I would explode. Finally he let me get out of the tub and evacuate on the toilet. He ordered me back into the tub, uncuffed my wrists and instructed me to wash and shave my body.

“When I take the gag out, don’t speak unless I ask you a direct question. I’ll punish you if you speak without permission.”

The water was warm and wonderful. I finished cleansing myself and removing the stubble of hair below my neck, except for the area concealed by the chastity pod. After I toweled myself dry, Mike removed the tape, pulled the sock out of my mouth, and instructed me to wash and shave my face. I brushed my teeth and used mouthwash. When I was done, he recuffed my wrists behind me. He was fascinated by the chastity pod. Repeatedly, he stared at it, pushed it this way and that, cupped his hand over it, pulled down on it, as if expecting my cock and balls to pop free. The pod held fast. Mike pinched my nipples and smiled as I winced. I took in new details about him—he was my size and weight but had about an inch or two in height over me.

“You’re a nice looking kid. I’ve noticed you at the gym.”

I had noticed him, too, I now remembered. His prominent chin and pouting lips were suddenly familiar to me. I had an immediate visual picture of him in workout clothes: he always wore muscle shirts and tight, revealing shorts; he exercised hard and fast; he worked out by himself.

He pushed me back against the bathroom wall and kissed me. His mouth tasted funky but sexy, salty, almost like cum, and being kissed by him was extremely pleasurable.

He had me kneel next to the toilet as he pissed into it, told me to use my mouth on the handle to flush it for him, and ordered me to remain by the toilet on my knees as he showered and dried and put his cock-and-ball harness back on. He rooted though my bathroom items, some of which fell to the floor, used my deodorant and mouthwash without asking, and left two towels and a wet cloth lying on the hamper and floor. I felt conflicted: annoyed at his mess, frustrated because I wanted to talk to him, yet turned on because he was so hot looking. His dick seemed to be in a perpetual semi-erect state. He retrieved the key to the handcuffs, ordered me to stand with my back to him, unfastened one cuff, turned me around to face him, and locked my hands together again in front.

“On your knees. Bow your head. Good. Now kiss my cock. Take it in your mouth, just the head. No tongue action, just hold it between your lips.”

He quickly became fully erect. He pushed my head back, off his cock, backwards till I was staring up at him. He smiled down at me. I wanted to suck him so badly I was practically drooling.

“I want you to clean up in here.”

He continued smiling at me, holding my head in his hands.

“When I give you an order, say ‘Yes, Sir.’ If you’re gagged, nod your head. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Get busy. Scrub the toilet well if you don’t want to lick it clean. I’m going to find something to eat.” He left the bathroom.

I looked around me at the room he had messed up, and was suddenly angry. Screw you, I thought. Who the fuck are you, anyway? I’m sick of this game. Just because you’re…I don’t know what, doesn’t mean I have to clean toilets for you, you slob.

But a moment later it occurred to me that this was probably a test, and if I hoped to see Bob and Jim again I had better do my best to pass it. I started to comply with his order. I was pushing things into the hamper when he came in and made me stand still so he could buckle and lock a leather collar around my neck. He was still naked, and his cock brushed my buttocks.

“You’re dreaming in here,” he said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get cracking.”

The handcuffs impeded my progress, but I quickly straightened and scrubbed the bathroom. Two or three times, I stopped, looked down at the chastity pod and my cuffed wrists, and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror to see the collar locked around my neck. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it all, but I continued scrubbing all the harder.

I spent the rest of the morning doing various chores. While he sat at the kitchen table drinking the juice I poured him, eating the bowl of cereal I served him and drinking the coffee I made him, I scrambled eggs and grilled bacon for him, and at his command scrambled some eggs for myself which I ate from a bowl on the floor between his feet, drinking juice from a bowl beside that. My hands were cuffed behind me again so I got orange juice and egg all over my face. He removed the cuffs completely for me to wash the breakfast dishes, and unrestrained I went on to clean the apartment, fold and put away clothes, wash the rubber sleepsack and hood I had soiled, and make the bed. While I raced around doing housework, he half sat, half slumped in my reading chair, a leg thrown over one of its arms, watching television and idly playing with himself. Finally I stood before him at last and indicated that my chores were complete. He motioned me to kneel at his feet on the floor.

The silence between us was getting to me. Apart from making occasional remarks to the TV set, he said nothing at all. After kneeling beside him watching some stupid show for almost fifteen minutes, I thought I’d explode if we went on like that any longer. I had to break the silence, and damn the consequences. “I need to talk,” I said. “I don’t know who you are. I really don’t know what’s going on. Please talk to me!”

He smacked my head, hard. “I told you not to speak unless spoken to. Didn’t I make that clear?”

I was too stunned to reply.

“Answer me,” he said. But I couldn’t say a word. I bowed my head and scrunched up my face, fighting tears. His hand came down gently on my head and gently caressed my cropped hair. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I hope you’re not going to cry. Okay, just this once you can talk. What do you want to know?”

But I suddenly didn’t know anymore. I shrugged. “Do you live with Master Tom?” I asked, in a small voice.

“Kind of. I mean I don’t exactly live with him but I live in his house. I told you, I’m his slave. Sometimes I spend the whole week with him and sometimes I don’t see him for days at a time. It’s his call, always.”

“But why are you with me? I don’t know your Master Tom, though he told me he’s their friend. Where are Bob and Jim?”

“They needed a baby sitter for you, and he sent me over. At least that’s my impression, no one gives me reasons. So it’s not only your ass on the line today, understand? Understand?” he repeated, but softly.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied. Just like that, everything was all right again. I leaned my head against his knee.

“Good,” he said. “So just obey me.”

After a few more minutes spent stroking my head, he sent me into the kitchen to drink two large glasses of water, then told me to bring him the sports bag Bob and Jim had sent home with me the weekend before. From the bag he pulled out three long coils of rope and the head harness with the ball gag.

“Get your ass into the bedroom,” he said

As he worked at positioning and binding me on the bed, I had a strong sense that he was enjoying himself, and I felt happy, too. His touch thrilled me. At that moment I believed there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him or let him do to me.

He had stayed undressed all morning, and I had noted his cock become erect intermittently while I did chores. Now it was stiff, and he rubbed it against me as he tied me face down to the bed. He spread my legs to bind each ankle to a bedleg. He threaded rope through the D-ring at the top of the head harness, looped it between my bound wrists and pulled, bringing my head back and my wrists up high against my back and splaying my elbows wide apart. My cock, trying to become erect within the pod, was hurting. I was very turned on and wanted to moan through the ball gag, but I feared Mike might mistake my pleasure for pain and go easy on me. I didn’t want him to go easy on me, though I wasn’t all that happy to see him approach the bed with a thick leather belt doubled up in his fist.

“I’m going to punish you now for talking when you weren’t supposed to before. Can you take it?” He gave me a warm smile.

I made affirmative sounds, determined to take whatever he wanted to dish out.

He knelt on the bed between my legs and began smacking my buttocks, first with his hands, then with the belt, using strong, quick strokes to which I responded with sharp breaths through my nose. I clenched my ass cheeks involuntarily and tried to push into the bed, to get away from the pain. The beating went on for a few more blows, then stopped.

“Raise your butt high, like you did before. I like that.”

Clenching my teeth, I pushed my ass up as high as I could. He got off the bed to get better positioning and the beating resumed, the blows became harder, sharp smacks, cutting snaps. It wasn’t long before I was groaning into the gag. My butt dropped, I tried to shift on the bed, to deflect the blows. The beating seemed to escalate further, the belt constantly coming down where it hurt most, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get away from it. The snapping sound of the strap and the stinging pain was almost unbearable. I struggled against the bindings as though I could escape if I tried hard enough. I tilted my head back as far as possible to pull my arms down in an attempt to shield my buttocks. Nothing helped. My ass was on fire, I couldn’t stand the pain. I could feel tears in my eyes, and I started shaking my head violently, begging him through the gag to stop, my words incomprehensible.

And then it was over. I waited for it to start again, but nothing happened. Gradually my muscles relaxed, and I sank down into the bed.

Mike got between my legs again, and the weight of his body gradually settled on top of me. He was holding me, and his head was next to mine. He kissed my wet face and my lips, and gently licked the ball in my mouth. He spoke quietly in my ear. “I had to punish you for disobeying me. I got a little carried away, but I think you and your cute ass handled it real well. I used to cry all the time when I got a bad beating, I still do sometimes.”

His full erection was centered in the crack of my ass; he shifted his hips to rub the tip of his dick against my anus. For a moment I feared he would plunge in bareback, unlubed. “Do you have any condoms?” he asked, to my relief. I did what I could to indicate the night table. He got up and I watched him open the drawer, extract a condom from its packaging, and roll it over his fully erect cock. He squeezed some lube onto the condom, then over my asshole which he worked with a finger.

He was on the bed again, between my legs. “Now, no matter what I do, I don’t want you to move a muscle.”

I relaxed my sphincter and accommodated him without difficulty as his cock slowly entered my hole. Once his cock was fully in place, he pushed it as far in as he could. He lay on top of me, rested his full length on me. He stayed like that without moving for several minutes. At one point, I contracted my sphincter to feel his dick.

“I told you not to move!”

We stayed that way so long that I became aware how uncomfortable I was. I could feel his cock, extremely hard, inside me, but he made no attempt to move it. My butt was sore. My fingers and arms started to tingle from his weight on my back. The pod pushed painfully against my pelvic bone, the steel bar inside the pod was biting into my tight-sacked balls as they tried unsuccessfully to rise all the way up inside me and burst free. My cock and balls felt crushed by the enclosure of the pod and the pressure of Mike’s penetrating cock pinning my crotch to the bed.

Then, all at once, the discomfort gave way to other feelings. I lost track of how much time passed. I felt his heart beating against my back and his breath on my neck and face. I had a sudden, overwhelming feeling of intimacy. I wanted to hold him, kiss him, taste his mouth again. I forgave him in my mind for belting me so hard.

To my relief he started to fuck me, but very slowly. He pulled his cock back gradually, until it was almost completely withdrawn, then cautiously pushed it back in, burying it all the way to the hilt. He increased the pace, then decreased it; sometimes he stopped cold, stayed completely motionless, froze in mid-stroke. It became excruciating. I wanted him to fuck me hard and fast and cum with a huge orgasm. I no longer cared about my own comfort or pleasure. I just wanted to please him.

When he finally pulled his cock out, I was pretty sure he had not cum; this was confirmed later when I saw him remove the condom. He untied my ankles, helped me sit up, then had me get off the bed to kneel beside it on the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed with me between his legs, my back to him. He disconnected my wrists from the head harness but kept them tied behind my back. He removed the head harness and gag and had me turn around to face him.

“Lick my cock. Don’t take it in your mouth, just lick it.” He lay back, laced his hands behind his head. “Go down and lick my feet. That’s nice, take my toes in your mouth, suck each one, lick between my toes.”

I spent the next hour or so giving him a tongue job from toe to head and back down again, giving special attention to his feet, crotch and armpits. I was drunk on the taste of him and the more I licked, the more I wanted to lick, each taste feeding my appetite for him. It didn’t matter that sexual release for me was not a consideration. Channeling my desires into a need to please him seemed a perfect way to deal with my overwhelming desire. I was ready and willing to do anything he asked, complete any task imaginable, prove whatever he required. Though I couldn’t get hard in it, precum was leaking from the piss hole in my chastity pod. He was amused when he roused himself, and brought his hand down to clasp the pod.

“Sticky, sticky. You didn’t cum, I hope?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good. Do you need to piss?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With my wrists still tied, he led me to the bathroom.

“Have you been piss trained?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you into piss play, boy?”

I’d never done it, never particularly wanted to. “I…I don’t know, Sir.”

“Yes or no is sufficient. Ever tasted your own piss?”

“No, Sir.”

He had me straddle the toilet in a standing position and told me to piss.

My bladder was pretty full. It did not take long for urine to start dribbling, then streaming, out of the hole in the pod.

Mike put a hand right into the stream when it was coming out full force, then brought his hand to my lips.

“Lick my hand clean.”

I disregarded a momentary feeling of revulsion, and licked his wet hand, cautiously at first, then more enthusiastically, until I was sucking on his fingers.

“Not so bad, is it?”

It wasn’t. The piss didn’t have much taste at all, and I eagerly sought out the taste of Mike’s hand behind it. I shook my head in agreement, said “No, Thir,” around his thumb.

When I was done, he shook the pod so the last drops scattered.

“Get down on the floor and lick it up, every drop,” Mike said.

I can’t describe what it was like to complete Mike’s order, except to say that in the end I enjoyed it in spite of myself, because of the idea that doing something I didn’t really want to do would please him. I did the best I could with my arms tied behind me. He left the bathroom and returned carrying the head harness and some rope.

“Get in the tub.”

He inserted the ball gag in my mouth and fastened the head harness in place. He guided me to a sitting position, then onto one side with my legs bent, and finally onto my stomach. He tied my ankles together, then threaded more rope through the rope at my ankles and wrists to bring my hands and feet together in a classic hog-tie. A minute or so later, I felt a warm trickle on my back and my head. Mike was urinating on me. The urine trickled down my bound hands and feet and onto my back. The flow stopped. Mike instructed me to turn on my side, then continued to piss on me until my chest was soaked. Next, he told me to close my eyes and he pissed all over my face. When the flow stopped I opened my eyes. Mike shook the last drops at me and left the room.

Piss had definitely never been my thing. But maybe this time, because it was Mike’s piss, and because it had given him such obvious pleasure to do it to me, I didn’t find it disgusting. I actually kind of liked it, revelled in knowing I was lying in his piss. After a few minutes, I relaxed as much as being hog-tied permitted and realized how exhausted I was. Soon, I actually fell asleep.

Pulling at the ropes and banging my head on the tub, I woke with a start. The shower was running over me. My eyes closed reflexively. Cold water became pleasantly hot. The water stopped, and I blinked my eyes open as I felt Mike push me onto my stomach. He was untying me. The knots must have been tight; it took him several minutes to loosen them. He untied me completely, unfastened and pulled off the head harness and removed the ball gag from my mouth. Wearing only the pod and leather collar he had put on my neck earlier, I stood up in the tub, stretching and swinging my grateful arms and legs. Mike stepped in with me. He ran the shower again and had me soap his body and my own. We started playing. We kissed. He let me explore his body with my hands and play with his cock, but he pushed my hand away when his cock began to pulsate.

We rinsed, I toweled him dry, then dried myself. He got the key and removed the collar.

“Here’s how we do it. For as long as you and I are alone, when I put the collar on, you’re my total slave. When I take the collar off, we’re equals. Now you can talk to me freely.”

“Hi,” I said.

He took me in his arms, smiled. “Hi,” he said back, and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Let’s go inside.”

“I liked it when you fucked me before,” I said, following him into the bedroom and flopping down beside him on the bed. We lay on our backs, he slipped an arm under my head. “I wanted you to cum.”

“So did I. But I couldn’t. I probably shouldn’t even have fucked you.”

“Would you be punished?”

“For fucking you? Probably. I’ll get a beating which will make the one I gave you seem like a picnic at the beach. I can deal with it. If I came? Absolutely. But I wouldn’t like that punishment.”

“I can’t think of anything worse than a beating worse than the one you gave me.”

He made a scoffing sound. I waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. I turned my head to look at him. His arm was strong, hard, solid. He turned his head so our noses were almost touching, and smiled wryly.

“I’ll tell you what’s worse,” he said. “No beating at all.”

His words made no sense. “If you say so,” I said.

“Nothing at all. No beating, no sex, no interest. For me, no punishment’s worse than that. If I deliberately disobey a specific order, and don’t have a real good life-or-death reason for it, the punishment is nothing, just being ignored, sometimes for weeks. I’d much rather get a real bad beating than that.”

Suddenly, I understood what he meant. I had been ignored by Masters Bob and Jim.

“An orgasm’s just not worth it,” Mike said.

“And you can’t lie about it…” I said. I myself wasn’t sure if I was asking a question or making a statement.

“Lie to your master? If you think you can, you don’t know anything about slavery.”

“The truth is, I don’t,” I said. “This is all so new to me.”

“Well, take it from me. Never lie to your master. If you ever do, it’s all over, he’s not your master anymore.”

“Not even a teensy weensy lie?” I said. I wanted to lighten the air a little, he was suddenly so serious.

But he didn’t smile. “The thing about sexual slavery,” he said. “is it’s only a game, but if you want it to work, you have to play as if your life depended on it. That’s a quote.”

“From who?”

“Master Tom.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly.

“And a lot of it’s played on the honor system,” Mike said.

“If you say so.”

“I do, and don’t be a smartass.”

“I’m sorry. But I really don’t know anything, so I have to take what you’re saying on faith. The truth is, I didn’t even know I wanted to be a slave, until Bob and Jim kind of made me one.”

“You didn’t?” Mike said, incredulous.

“I just liked getting tied up.”

“They think you’re a natural,” Mike said. “Don’t get a swelled head, but I heard them telling Master Tom you’re one of the best candidates they’ve ever had. And they’ve gone through I don’t know how many guys just since I’ve been on the scene. I know lots of guys who’d do pretty much anything to slave for them, they’re two of the hottest masters around. Consider yourself lucky.”

I glowed inside.

“I want to learn everything you can teach me,” I said. “Please. What do you mean about the honor system?”

“Just that you have to obey your master with your heart and soul even when you’re not in his presence. That’s what makes the game work. The bond is as strong as any bond two people can have, because it’s based on total honesty between the master and the slave, and yet it’s fragile, too, since a slave’s lie can shatter it.”

“Is that another quote from Master Tom?”

“It’s the truth.”

“And do the masters have to be totally honest with you?”

“It’s different for them. The Master never has to lie to the slave, since he doesn’t owe the slave an explanation for his behavior. The slave never has the right to ask him anything, anyhow, unless he gives permission. But the Master can ask you anything he wants to, and you have to tell him the truth, no matter how badly you know he’s going to punish you for it.”

“Seems a lot easier to be a master,” I said.

“Master Tom says it’s easier being a slave, and I think he’s right.”

“I don’t see why. The masters run the game, they make the rules, they can change them to suit themselves, at a moment’s notice, do anything they want,” I said, “and if they find another slave they like better, they can throw him out.”

“That’s all true. No one ever said the game was fair,” Mike said. “But the nice thing about being a slave is you don’t have to worry about changing rules or making new ones, all you have to do is obey, without question. As Master Tom says, ‘You’re relieved of the hard job of making choices.’ Unless,” Mike said with a grin, remembering something, “he makes you choose between two equally lousy punishments.”

“Does your master punish you often?”

“Often enough. I can be a real fuckup.”

“When…when was the last time?”

“A week ago. Last Friday. Friday’s are usually punishment night, unless something really important comes up.”

“Can I ask you what it was?”

“A beating, about like the one I gave you, and a milking.”

“What’s a milking?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you? He ties me down real tight and jerks me off over and over, till I’ve come four or five times or more and I’m shooting completely dry and my prostate really hurts. And then he’ll go away and leave me restrained for hours, just thinking about my sins. I hate having to stay tied up after I’ve cum.”

I liked the idea of Mike being tightly tied up. I imagined both of us being tightly tied up together. “How long have you been with Master Tom?” I asked.

“Three years.”

“I wasn’t sure before but I think I really want to be Bob and Jim’s slave,” I said.

“It means we’ll probably spend a lot of time together. They’re real close with Master Tom.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

“I might not mind it myself.”

We lay quietly together for a while.

“I know what you mean about being ignored,” I said. “I really was hoping to see them last night…I wonder if I’ll see them at all this weekend…”

“Don’t ask me,” Mike said. “We were all at the bar together last night when this kid came along, a slave applicant they’ve been corresponding with for a while. They were a little surprised to see him, I think, they hadn’t really expected him to show up. But he came over and got right down in the bar licking their boots. So they sent me and him to get them drinks and worked something out with my Master, because when we came back they finished their drinks pretty quick and then Master Tom brought me here to become your baby sitter. And I gotta tell you, I have a real top streak in me I never knew I had.”

He went on for a while about what a kick he was having bossing me around and tying me up, but I wasn’t listening. I had gone all cold inside.

“So Bob and Jim aren’t interested in me anymore…”

“Hey, didn’t I just tell you they think you’re a real find?”

“Yes, but if they’ve got this other kid now…”

“You know, if you want to be a slave, you’re going to have to get over being jealous,” Mike said, raising himself up on an elbow and bringing out the collar from under his pillow. He quickly buckled it, then locked it, around my neck,

“That’s enough talk for now,” he said. “Roll over on your belly.”

I did, and a moment later my hands were cuffed behind my back. He rolled me over onto my side and lay down beside me, took my face between his hands and gave me a long, mouth-filling kiss.

“You’re so cute and you totally bring out the top in me,” Mike said. He reached down, and from the floor picked up the partner to the sock he had stuffed my mouth with when I was in the rubber sleepsack. He rubbed it over my face, covered my nose with it, made me inhale deeply his mild, funky foot smell, then rolled the sock up and working slowly, packed my mouth with it, pushing little ends in bit by bit. When my mouth was packed full and he pulled my lips down over my teeth, he reached down again, picked up a roll of tape, and taped my mouth shut. “Time for a nap, now,” he said.

He positioned me with my back to him and encircled me with his arms. It was wonderful. He felt my pectoral muscles, squeezed them, flicked his thumb over my nipples, and cupped the pod. His stiff cock rubbed against my butt. He got up, and I turned my head to see him putting on another condom. Returning to bed, he said, “Since I’m going to get punished for doing this once, I might as well get punished for doing it twice.”

As before, he lubed himself and me up and entered me slowly. We remained still, lying on our sides, my cuffed hands caught between the small of my back and his lower belly, my fingers caressing the silky flesh right above his burrowed cock. Eventually I drifted off to sleep. I dozed off and on and was aware of small changes in the size and hardness of his cock inside me. In my half sleep, I started pushing back, riding and squeezing his cock. He responded by tightening his arms around me. My cuffed hands and arms were trapped between us. He clasped me tighter, made a resounding moan, and began using quick, strong thrusts. I pushed back further to intensify the jabs. His groans became louder, he increased the speed and power of his ramming, and finally, with a loud, “Shit! Fuck!” he ejaculated.

For a moment he continued to hold me pressed against him. Then he pulled out of me violently, jumped off the bed and started stomping around the room. “Damn!” he cried. “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!”

I remained on my side, facing the wall, afraid to move. If I hadn’t been fully gagged, I would have apologized, it was all my fault. There was a sharp thud as, I assumed, he punched the wall. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he said, and stormed out of the room. A moment later I heard water running in the bathroom.

The phone rang several times before Mike raced into the room to answer it. “Yes, Sir,” Mike said, in a thin, unhappy voice. “Yes, Sir,” he repeated, then hung up the phone.

He came over to the bed, uncuffed my hands. “Take off your gag, get dressed,” he said in the same toneless voice as he himself gathered his own clothes and began to put them on.

“I’m really sorry, Mike,” I said, as soon as I had peeled off the tape and pulled the sock out of my mouth.

“It’s not your goddam fault,” he said. “And shut up, you’re wearing the collar.”

“I…”

“I told you to shut up!” he shouted in my face. Then more quietly. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Now, get me a pair of socks. I hope you don’t expect me to wear mine, with your spit all over them.”

I gave him a pair of sweatsocks and put on a T-shirt, baggy jeans that zipped over the chastity pod, socks and sneakers. Mike was already dressed: a tight, sleeveless black shirt showed off his chest and biceps; he wore tight jeans, Doc Marten boots and a biker jacket. He looked very sexy.

“Find me a bag for my chaps,” he said.

He made no move to take the collar off before we left the house, and I thought better of mentioning it. Once outside, he walked swiftly, not looking back when I fell behind. I remained silent as I ran to catch up. I was a little embarrassed. The leather collar was visible under my denim jacket.

Mike didn’t say a word during the whole walk to Master Tom’s house, along a route I now recognized. When we got there, he used a key to let us in, then led me up two flights of stairs to the third floor, down a corridor and into a large attic-type room that was obviously a dungeon of sorts. At his command I drank some water, pissed in a tiny corner bathroom, undressed and folded my clothes. Bondage gear was arranged neatly on shelves and hooks hanging from the walls. Mike seemed in a hurry to do what he had to do with me and be done with it. He gagged me with a metal bit held in place by straps that buckled behind my head and removed the leather collar to install a heavy metal restraint, one I had seen at bondage web sites but had never worn. It was comprised of two flat, hinged steel bars with three half-moon indentations in each: a wide, central indentation that encircled my neck like a big steel collar, and two smaller indentations at either end for my wrists. My elbows were bent at right angles, my locked-in wrists held level with my neck. I quickly discovered that if I tried to relax my arms, the bottom of the metal collar dug into my neck and collarbone. Mike guided me into a cage similar to the one Bob and Jim had in their basement. With the neck/wrist restraint already in place, maneuvering around in the cage to get into the position he wanted was tricky. He was in a grim mood, intent on something other than what he was doing, though he took great care with me, and I was anxious not to give him cause for displeasure.

The bars of the cage were spaced far enough apart that arms and legs could be extended through them. Sitting up straight on the hard floor, the top of my head was just inches from the top bars of the cage.

Mike closed and locked the door and directed me to extend my feet through separate bars of the cage door. He joined my ankles together outside with leg irons connected by a few loops of chain. He took two pairs of handcuffs off the wall and attached one cuff of each to each wrist: the other cuff he locked to a bar on the roof of the cage. Lastly, he threaded rope through one of the straps holding the metal bit gag in place and tied my head to the top of the cage. Then, without a word, he left the room.

Time dragged. According to a clock I had seen on the landing, it had been a little after 5.30 when we’d arrived. There was no sound from anywhere in the house. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything but two scrambled eggs all day and now a wonderful aroma of something being fried or roasted wafted up to me, making my stomach growl. My butt was sore, and no matter how I tried to shift position, (the best I could do was hunch my back, which meant that the rope on my head pulled at the gag unpleasantly) I couldn’t ease the soreness.

My arms were starting to ache, and the position my legs were forced to maintain was becoming arduous. The metal bit irritated the corners of my lips. Moving my jaw around to try to dislodge it was unsuccessful, and I found that grinding the metal against my teeth was decidedly unpleasant. I glanced down at the metal chastity pod. By now my cock seemed to try less frequently to become erect. I wondered if a conditioning response had taken some effect. The notion that Bob and Jim were succeeding in controlling my erections popped into my mind. Where was the key to the chastity device? Why did I have to wear it if they were really interested in another boy? How had I ever let myself get into this situation? Anchored in place, with unyielding, rigid steel restraints, in a cage in the house of someone I did not know, my cock and balls locked up tight by people who didn’t even care about me. I was getting confused, angry. I considered starting to yell, imagined Mike would return and remove the gag, and that I would demand to be released and then go home. I was sorry he had cum while fucking me, that he might go weeks being ignored by his master, but there was nothing I could do about that. I’d ask Master Tom for the key to my apartment, I’d insist on it. I’d stop along the way home at a hardware store to buy an allen wrench and a bolt cutter for the padlock on the chastity device. I’d go to a movie with friends. I’d have a normal Sunday and go back to work on Monday as if all of this had just been a dream.

Bob and Jim walked into the room.

Jim said, “Having fun, slaveboy?”

My heart swelled to see them and my cock stirred in the pod. Suddenly my discomfort wasn’t all that bad. I did the best I could to say, “Yes, Sir,” around the bit and nod my head.

Bob crouched next to the cage and said, “He’s having fun. I think we should leave him like this a while longer.”

“It’ll keep him from jerking off,” Jim said.

“He does jerk off a lot, doesn’t he?” said Bob.

“Much too much,” said Jim. “Good thing he’s wearing that pod.”

They leaned on the cage, staring down at me, making cute comments to each other.

“Well, I don’t know about him, but I’m hungry,” said Jim. “Do we leave him here or take him with us?”

“On the one hand I say let’s leave him here,” said Bob. “On the other hand, I do like having a slaveboy sucking my dick when I dine. Let’s free him for now.”

Jim unfastened my legs and opened the cage. My masters eased me out and stood me up and, after turning me this way and that for a careful body inspection, Bob removed the neck/wrist restraint.

“Put your hands behind your back,” said Jim. “Always stand like that in our presence, when you’re not restrained.”

“Unless told otherwise,” said Bob.

“Yes, Sir, yes, Sir,” I said to each of them in turn. Jim unlocked the padlock on the chastity pod, used the wrench to open it, and then instructed me to extract my cock and balls, which I accomplished by pulling the skin of my scrotum, one ball and then the other, and finally my cock, through the small hole. I put my hands behind my back as Bob took my cock in his hand. It immediately became embarrassingly hard. Both Bob and Jim carefully inspected my cock and my balls, brushed at the pod marks which they said would disappear soon enough, and pronounced me healthy. They turned me around and studied my bruised ass.

“How are you doing, boy?” Jim said solemnly.

“Very well, Sir. I’ve missed you, Sir. Both of you…Sirs. I’m glad to see you.”

“Your ass doesn’t look too good, which is another way of saying it looks great, but are you really sure you want to go ahead with this, boy?” said Bob.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied to him. “Yes, Sir,” I said to Jim. And remembering my original meeting with Master Tom, I fell to my knees and kissed first Master Jim’s feet, since he was standing in front of me, and then Master Bob’s, who was standing by his side

Clearly this pleased them both. “Very nice, boy. Get up,” said Bob.

Jim took something down from a hook on the wall. “Go into the bathroom, shower, wash and shave your cock and balls, you’ll find a clean razor on the sink. Then lube yourself up, put this on and come downstairs. Don’t waste any time and don’t even think of playing with yourself.”

What he gave me was a small buttplug harness, which, after I had cleaned up and shaved, took me some time to get on. My cock had been rock hard since coming out of the pod, and it took forever to get my cock and balls through the cockring. No sooner did I get them through at last than I was fully erect again. I found some lube, greased up the buttplug and my ass, inserted the plug without much difficulty, used as my ass was to Mike, and buckled the harness tightly around my waist.

Self-consciously, cautiously, my cock bobbing in front of me, I proceeded downstairs with my hands behind my back and walked toward the smell of food.

“In here, boy.”

I entered a living room where Master Bob and Master Jim were sitting on a couch, with Master Tom seated in an armchair opposite them. All three were dressed in full leather, holding drinks. There was a large plate of cheese, crackers and olives on a side table. Mike stood behind Master Tom’s chair, his head bowed. Mike was bare chested, possibly naked, though I couldn’t tell with the chair and Master Tom between us.

Master Tom clicked his fingers. Mike disappeared behind the chair and, remembering my introductory meeting with Master Tom, I, too, fell to my knees.

“Very nice,” said Master Jim. Master Bob concurred.

“Let’s see if he remembers the whole lesson,” said Master Tom. “Over here, boy.” I crawled over to kneel at his feet. “Head bent lower than that, boy, eyes down.” He snapped his fingers. I lowered my lips to an outstretched boot. He snapped his fingers again. I stuck my tongue out as far as I could and began to lick the boot.

“Very, very nice,” said Masters Jim and Bob together.

“Not perfect, but not bad,” said Master Tom. “Ass high in the air, boy, remember that.” I thrust my ass in the air.

“Good,” said Master Tom, placing a firm hand on my ass, which he pulled up higher. “Somebody’s been belting that pretty ass,” he said, “belting it hard. I doubt it was either of you two, or that it was done in this house. I’d surely have heard. Crawl over to your Masters,” he said. “And you, Mike, get your sorry little excuse for a butthole over here.”

As I crawled over to my masters, I heard Mike crawling behind me.

Master Bob instructed me to kiss Master Jim’s combat boot, then lick it till it shone.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Master Tom asked Mike.

“Yes, sir,” said Mike, faintly.

“When I gave you the authority to to give him some light training, did that give you license to beat the shit out of him and raise those welts on his butt?”

“No, Sir,” said Mike.

“Well?”

“I failed, Sir. I failed the whole thing.”

“Obviously you have more to tell me, which we’ll discuss later. For now, you go over there and let that boy know how sorry you are for marring his perfect behind.”

“Keep licking those boots,” Master Jim said, to me.

I heard Mike come up behind me, then felt his warm breath on my buttocks and the next thing I knew he was kissing and licking my ass, washing it with his tongue.

Mike continued laving my buttocks and trying to work his tongue into my asscrack which was covered by the harness belt while I licked Master Jim’s boots and the three masters refreshed their drinks and ate their hors d’oeuvres. When they finally decided it was time for dinner, Master Tom sent Mike off to the kitchen and I at their command followed my masters on hands and knees into the dining room.

The rectangular dining table, with twelve chairs placed at comfortable distances around it, two on each end and four on each side, was a thick slab of clear glass set atop a carpeted steel cage about three feet wide by six feet long and approximately two and a half feet high, considerably wider and longer and lower than the one upstairs and the one I had been in at Bob and Jim’s. I was directed to enter the cage by a door at the head of the table which clanged shut behind me. The bars of this cage were spaced wider apart than those of the two other cages, wide enough to stick one’s head through to lick boots or suck cock, something I was ordered to do to Master Bob as soon as he and Master Jim took their places at one side of the table, opened their pants, pulled out their cocks and drew their chairs up so close to the cage that their knees came through the bars. Master Tom sat opposite them and while I sucked first Master Bob’s cock and then Master Jim’s, Master Tom played with my ass, pulled my balls and squeezed my dick. I was aware of Mike, naked except for his cock harness, his dick limp, walking around the table serving the three masters. Every once in a while Bob or Jim would pat my head, stroke my shoulders, or playfully pinch my nipples. I felt terrible for Mike, sorry about the punishment he was going to incur, but I was very happy in my position in the cage going from one master to the other.

“Serve the boy, now,” Master Tom said, after the three masters had been eating for a while. “And put your own bowl down here at my feet.”

Jim pushed my head off his cock and pushed my head farther inside the cage. He tucked his cock back inside his pants and closed his pants as Mike slid a dog bowl with pieces of cut up chicken, carrots and potatoes in it through an opening at the bottom of the cage. I picked up the spoon in my bowl, my only utensil, but was ordered to drop it back into the bowl by Master Jim.

“Never start to eat until given permission,” said Master Jim.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Make yourself more comfortable, you have permission to sit, rest your back here, against the bars, between my legs,” said Master Bob. “Now pick up your bowl.” I did so and he reached in to take a piece of chicken out of it and feed it to me with his fingers, which I then licked clean. For a while he continued feeding me with his fingers, and Master Jim also had me eat some carrots out of his hand and lick his hand clean. After a few minutes of that, Master Bob told me to continue eating with my spoon and he and Master Jim went back to their own plates.

With my back to Bob and Jim and facing Master Tom, I saw Mike set a bowl down for himself outside the cage, next to Master Tom’s chair, then get down on all fours and wait, his face poised above his bowl.

“No spoon for you,” said Master Tom. “Give it to me.”

Mike retrieved the spoon from his bowl with his teeth and presented it to Master Tom, who laid it on the table.

“You eat on all fours tonight,” said Master Tom. “Get going.”

Without a glance in my direction Mike stuck his face in his bowl and started to eat.

“That ass is quite a sight. Perhaps your boy has a suggestion as to how Mike should be corrected for his unwarranted excess of zeal today,” said Master Tom. “At the same time I’d certainly be interested in knowing everything else that went on.”

“Well, boy?” said Master Bob, nudging me with a knee. “You have our permission to speak freely.”

“I don’t know what to say, Sir. I’m fine, really I am. I learned a lot, Mike taught me a lot.”

“I daresay he did,” said Master Tom. “Tell me something you learned, boy.”

I had to think quickly. “Always to be truthful, Sir.”

“A very important lesson. Good for you, Mike, that’s one point in your defense. And since the boy probably doesn’t know yet what to be truthful about, let’s ask a few questions, since I know my own boy’s predilections. Mike likes pissplay,” Master Tom said, placing one of his booted feet on Mike’s head and pushing it down into the bowl. “Ask the boy if Mike pissed on him.”

“You heard Master Tom,” Master Jim said. “Did he? Be truthful, boy.”

“Yes, Sir. Yes, he did, Sir, but…”

“Did he piss in your mouth?” asked Master Bob.

“No, Sir.”

“He probably fucked him, too,” said Master Tom. “Mike’s one of those rare slaves who likes to fuck, aren’t you, Mike?”

“Yes, Sir,” Mike said indistinctly into the mush in his bowl.

“Well, boy?” said Master Bob.

“We’re waiting, boy,” said Master Jim.

“He didn’t want to come, Sir. He couldn’t help it, I made him. I rode him, Sir. If he came, it was my fault. Please don’t punish him for that.”

“You’re stepping out of line, boy,” said Master Jim. “It’s not your place, in that cage under the table, to tell any of us what to do.”

“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled.

Master Tom took his foot off Mike’s head. Mike raised his head, staring down at the bowl, looking miserable. His face was covered with mashed food. Master Tom gave him a hard smack on the ass.

“Get your ass upstairs, and on the double.”

“Yes, Sir,” Mike muttered, and was out of the room like a shot.

“Seems our boys got on well together,” said Master Bob.

“Maybe a little better than they needed to,” said Master Tom.

“Okay, boy. Now tell us everything that took place between the time you got into the rubber sleepsack last night until you came here this afternoon,” said Master Jim. “Don’t leave anything out.”

I told them everything I could remember, trying to make Mike look as good as possible. I emphasized all he had taught me to convince them I knew how important it was to be totally truthful. When I was done, there was a brief silence. I wondered what they were communicating to one another with their eyes. Without a word, all three pushed their chairs out and got up. Master Tom unlocked the cage door and at Master Bob’s command I crawled out.

“The boy can clean up,” said Master Jim.

“There’s dessert in the refrigerator,” said Master Tom. “Set three places for us and turn on the coffee when you’re done. Then join us upstairs, the same room you were in before.”

It took me over half an hour to familiarize myself with the kitchen and neaten it up, during which I pondered poor Mike’s fate. A few times I thought I heard someone crying out, but I couldn’t be sure over the running water.

When I got upstairs, Bob was sitting on a small love seat in one corner of the room. Jim and Tom were standing at the foot of the cage I had been in before dinner. Mike was in it now, restrained by most of the same metal restraints he had put on me, and seated in much the same position he had left me in, with a few differences that struck me immediately as surpassing the degree of my earlier immobility. The rigid neck/arm device and handcuffs held his arms and wrists in place, shackled to each side of the cage, as mine had been. His ankles and feet protruded through the cage bars, as mine had done, but they were locked inside a wooden stockade. When I’d been in the cage, I’d only worn leg irons on my feet, enabling me to bend my knees and rest my feet on the floor. In contrast, Mike’s legs were held rigid straight in front of him. He had to lean his back against the back of the cage for support. His feet were locked about six inches apart, two or three inches off the floor, in the middle two of the four slots of the wooden stock.

His head was more thoroughly restrained than mine had been. It was in a harness and muzzle, connected with black cords to the sides and top of the cage. A small breathing tube jutted out from the muzzle. Because of this, I could not view his facial expression, but I had a glimpse of his unhappy eyes, and felt terribly guilty. This did not stop my cock from getting rigid at the sight of him.

“On your knees, boy,” said Master Bob. “Always drop to your knees when you come into a Master’s presence.”

No sooner did I drop to my knees, and bend my head, than I was invited by Master Jim to get to my feet, come over to the cage and examine my friend Mike.

“Like the way we’ve fixed him, boy? I see your cock does.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Close inspection revealed a redness and welts on the visible parts of Mike’s buttocks. Also, I noticed a ring at the bottom of the cock and ball harness was tethered to a bar at the bottom of the door of the cage. Mike’s balls were bulging in the harness and pulled toward his feet; his cock was free, semi-erect, flopped over to one side.

Master Tom told me to sit at Mike’s feet with my legs spread apart. He and Jim opened the wooden stockade, directed me to place my ankles in the outer slots, and then closed and locked it. He pushed a heavy piece of furniture up against my back for support, handed me a small leather crop and said, “Have fun, boy, he has very sensitive feet.” Then all three of them left the room.

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble,” I said to Mike. “I had to tell them, because of what you told me. About being totally honest, I mean. I didn’t want to rat on you. I don’t know what’s going on, this is all so new to me.” I continued babbling my apology and though I couldn’t see Mike’s expression, I suddenly had the strong impression that he didn’t want to hear it, that he was getting bored, that he wished I’d shut up. Through the bars of the cage, under the straps of the head harness, his eyes were closed.

His upturned feet were cute, I would have liked to kiss and lick them. I ran the tip of the crop over the sole of his left foot, which jerked a little. I did it again. He wiggled his foot, exhaled loudly through the tube, opened his eyes. Was he angry at me? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

I considered the situation. There was no way I could release myself, or move away, even with my hands free. The wooden stockade kept us connected and kept me imprisoned. My legs were spread apart with my feet on either side of the cage. If I tried to shift backward, all I succeeded in doing was to increase the pressure on Mike’s legs. If I moved forward, closer to his feet, it changed the angle of my ankles in the slots of the stockade, making the wood dig into both our shins.

I set aside the crop. My hand moved to my cock as I took in the sight of Mike, so beautifully helpless, and his beautiful feet, so prominent in front of me. Perversely, in spite of the fact that he was angry at me, just knowing that I was supposed to punish him by tickling or whipping his feet began to excite me. I picked up the crop and started tickling in earnest. I experimented and found that the lightest touches had the most effect. I began to enjoy my power over him. I could make him moan, wiggle his feet, squirm, pull against the restraints. I liked watching his cock twitch and his balls jerk as the tether yanked them, when he shifted reflexively in response to flicks of the crop. The freedom to touch and rub my cock and the self-stimulation were overpowering. The build up of sexual excitement over the last 24 hours, the relief from the frustration of not being able to have a full erection, began to get the best of me. I switched the crop to my left hand so that I could massage my cock continuously, and I shifted my pelvis back to drive the butt plug deeper inside me. Pumping my cock and tormenting Mike’s feet with the crop as well as my uncoordinated left hand was able, I became oblivious to his reactions and gave in to my overwhelming need. I dropped the crop to use my left hand to steady myself as I arched backward, pulled against the stockade, and erupted. The cum spurted upward and forward, landing between my legs on the floor, on Mike’s feet and legs, and on the wooden restraint.

I closed my eyes and rested heavily against the piece of furniture supporting my back. The post-orgasm exhaustion and euphoria passed as I started to worry about what I had done. I sat up and looked at the mess and then at Mike. His cock was standing up at full erection. I wondered if I could somehow hide what I had done. They hadn’t told me not to come, but I was sure I hadn’t been supposed to. I started wiping the cum from the floor with one hand and then rubbing it on the leather harness and my body. I considered trying to lick some of it up and leaned forward to see if I could reach Mike’s feet with my tongue. I froze as I realized I was being watched and turned to see Bob and Jim standing in the doorway.

Comments

[Bondagebuddy]

Both slaves deserve severe punishment and I'm sure they are going to receive it. They'll be sore for a week at least. Excellent story, I have enjoyed all three installments tremendously so far. I'm anxious to read part 4.

Bondagebuddy